Jumbled
by Annonie
Summary: After suffering at the hands of a demon, Sam loses the one thing that is most precious to him...his mind. Teen Winchester Fic.


**Author's Note: **This was an entry in the SFTCOLARS August contest. Go to their site for the details and to see all the entries (check my profile for a link) and the winners. I've been wanting to do a fic like this for a while and to be honest, it's not my favorite piece I have written, but I am still strangely proud of it.

Anyway, I let you decide for yourself. Without further ado...

**Jumbled**

I.

It was so easy. In retrospect, it was _too _easy. After all of his training and knowledge, Sam should have known better. But none of the signs were there.

Maybe they were there, and he was just too careless to notice. Either way, the outcome was the same.

Sam had volunteered to grab dinner numerous times before. He never bothered with a car, since it was only two blocks away. Well, that and the fact he was fifteen and his brother would kill him. Plus, he always headed back on the most populated route.

Every precaution was always taken.

Sam knew of all the dangers out there. He knew what lurked in the dark. He had heard it all before. And his father and brother made sure he never forgot.

He knew jujutsu and spoke fluent Latin.

Most of all, he knew he was in deep shit the moment black eyes seeped into the person standing next to him on the crosswalk.

Much more composed than most people would be, Sam took a large back, reaching for his pocket knife, even though he knew it wouldn't be there. And even if it was, it wouldn't do him much good against a demon.

Evidently, every precaution wasn't taken.

The possessed man approached him at speeds unknown to most humans.

And then he knew nothing.

II.

John threw the car into park in front of the abandoned hospital. Reaching for his seatbelt, he tried to ignore Dean's glare. He was pretty sure Dean had been glaring at him during the whole three hour drive. He was used to Sam being petulant, but Dean…that was another story.

Everything was another story since Sam disappeared. Dean had gone from frantic, to desperate, to angry. He was mostly just angry now. Furious at everyone and everything that stood in his way.

To be honest, John couldn't blame him. God had kicked the shit out of the kid by taking his mother away, then came back fifteen years later for a second session of ass-whoopin'.

He also knew Dean's spite would end up being his downfall. And he did nothing to try and stop it.

It was just one more reason why he had failed as a father.

He wouldn't show it though. He _couldn't _show it. He was pretty sure the moment he let any of his feelings overwhelm him he would break down right there. Just collapse against the seat and wonder how everything got so fucked up.

Without another thought, John glanced in the review mirror and focused at the job at hand. "Let's go," he ordered, his tone much harder than it needed to be. He had opened the door when he heard the one word Dean had never said to him…ever.

"No."

Much more shocked than he let on, he turned back towards his son. "Excuse me? Do you want to try that again?" It wasn't a question. He did not just travel three hours to a fucking, abandoned hospital to deal with Dean's crap.

"No," Dean repeated, his tone even harsher. "We shouldn't even be here. Sam's been missing for three weeks, and we're hunting for some stupid spirit."

John didn't even pause. "Not spirit. Demon" he corrected, his tone short and clipped.

"I don't care what the fuck it is! It's not Sam!" Dean hollered, his eyes wide with rage.

John had never been so close to punching something, or _someone, _in his life. Of course it wasn't Sam. He knew that, the whole fucking world knew that. But if they didn't go on the hunt it wasn't like Sam would all of the sudden reappear.

John was just playing with the hand God had dealt him, which was undoubtedly the worst hand in the history of mankind.

One thing was for sure though, if anything was going to end up working in their favor, Dean needed to compose himself…_now._ And if it took some force, so be it.

"What the hell has gotten into you?!" John bellowed, his face beginning to turn red with fury. "If this is ever going to work, you need to start listening to me!"

"Maybe I'll start listening to you when you put your son before some demon!" Dean screamed back, his back against the door in rage, not fear.

John threw up his hands in frustration. "What else do you want me to do?! We already searched the city. I called every, single last one of my contacts. Even the police aren't coming up with anything! If you have any more ideas go ahead and share them with me."

"Here's an idea. Stop wasting your time hunting other things!"

"Goddammit, Dean!" John reached his hands forward just itching to breaking something. Unfortunately, the only things available to him where the impala or his son. And both were irreplaceable…one more than the other, he would decide which one later. "You were there when Joshua called! You know I haven't hunted anything since he's disappeared! One night that's it. We'll continue the search tomorrow."

For all the trouble he was receiving, John was really starting to wish he told Joshua to find someone else. It just seemed so uncomplicated at the time. Go to the Seaside Regional Center and perform a simple exorcism. It was a low-level demon, nothing too special. And since it was only three hours away, he and Dean would be back before sunrise.

He should have known Dean would see it differently. Over the past week, he and Dean never seemed to be on the same page. Hell, he doubted they were in the same book anymore.

"Fine," Dean's edged voice answered.

John watched as Dean exited the car and slammed the door.

Maybe there was hope for them after all.

III.

They had decided to split up, which was perfectly fine with Dean. They had pretended it was so then they could cover more surface area, but both knew it was because tensions were still high from the fight in the car.

It would do no one any good if they ending up killing each other before killing the demon.

Which was still a stupid demon in Dean's book. So far it hadn't done anything but kill livestock in surrounding areas. They wouldn't even consider this hunt if it wasn't for Joshua convincing his father that it would be better to exorcise it now before it had a chance to do anything else.

And they still owned Joshua one from when he miraculously pulled them out of a scrap with a succubus years ago.

Stupid Winchesters and their stupid debts.

Dean rounded the corner, his eyes rolling at the dreary scenery. Evidently, the stupid, rooster-destroying demon had a thing for horror movies too. Only Joshua would be able to find such an insignificant demon residing in an abandoned hospital.

It was so clichéd Dean wanted to puke.

Worst of all, he was spending his precious time hunting this thing when he could be using it to find Sammy. Just the thought of the injustice made Dean want to scream. Of course, that would just alert the demon. And knowing his luck, the scream would scare off the pussy ass demon he wanted to find.

He must of really pissed off karma for her to shit on him this much.

Dean opened the door to the west wing, when he was hit with the unmistakable scent of blood. Fully alert, he traced his flashlight along the hallway until he found a puddle of blood seeping from beneath one of the doors.

Backing up against the wall, Dean slowly approached the door and tapped it open with his flashlight. Peering in, he wasn't too shocked to see the body of a middle-aged man lying on the floor.

Evidently, the demon had upgraded from chickens. Most demons eventually do.

Reaching down, he checked for a pulse, even though he knew he wouldn't find one. The skin was gray and stiff, informing Dean he had been dead for a while. A day at least, Dean assumed.

He pocketed his flashlight and pulled out his cell to alert his father. He shouldn't have been surprised to see there was no reception. After all, they were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Sighing, Dean turned his attention towards the body. Since the body had been undisturbed, it was easy to see how the man died: a large scalpel wound to the stomach.

What surprised Dean though was that the wound seemed to be self-inflicted.

To the best of Dean's knowledge, that meant two things: either the man was possessed and killed himself after the demon left him, or the demon stabbed the man while possessing him, then left the body.

From experience, Dean was willing to bet it was the latter. Demons got a sick pleasure of destroying everything in their path.

Sighing, he knew the demon was probably long gone, possessing somebody else in another town.

The good news was that they could finally leave and focus their time to more important things. Like finding Sammy.

Dean should have been happy that it ended up being a bust. They would get back much earlier this way, but he only found himself angry. Angry for wasting so much time. Angry for focusing on something else, even if it was just for a second.

Most of all, angry for not standing he ground with his father. He knew Sammy would have.

Turning around, he continued back to where he came, opening doors along his path. There could always be another victim stashed behind another door.

He was halfway down hallway, haphazardly smashing open doors, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure how he missed it before, but there was slight movement coming from the previous room.

Immediately backtracking, Dean stealthily approached the door once more and listening intently.

It was subtle, so subtle he almost didn't hear it. But there was a faint whisper of a breathing inside the room. Slowly snaking his hand around the doorframe, his shined his flashlight inside, immediately noticing the huddled lump the corner.

Transfixed, Dean entered the small room, completely oblivious to the smell of dirt, mold, and urine. His flashlight trained on the person in front of him, Dean took agonizingly small, silent steps.

His hair was matted and greasy. and his body was covered in a straightjacket. But when he slowly lifted his head and his eyes blinked against the light, there was no denying it.

"S-Sammy?"

IV.

Dean. No. Not Dean. No Dean.

Sam immediately looked away from the light and slowly backed up against the wall.

There was no Dean. He created Dean. Dean never existed. It was just a figment. A figment he created. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away. Please, go away. He was so tired…and thirsty. But mostly tired. Maybe sleep would make Dean go away. No, not Dean. There was no Dean.

Sam slowly slid to his side and closed his eyes.

There, all better. No Dean.

"Sam, no, wake up." There were hands on his shoulders, lifting him up.

But they couldn't be lifting him up, because there were no hands. No hands. No Dean. He needed not Dean to go away. It don't like Dean. Or not Dean. Or whoever. He was so confused. He just wanted to be left alone. No more sessions. No more feedings. No more Dean.

"Sammy, please. Look at me."

Not Dean was using that voice. That voice he used when it was really important. If he created Dean, he must have created the voice too. He wasn't sure anymore. Everything was so jumbled.

He knew one thing for sure though. Dean made it mad. And if it was mad, he would be punished. And he didn't like that. So he didn't like Dean. Dean should go away.

"Sam, I know you can hear me. Please?"

Of course he could hear Dean. He created Dean. He was the only one who could hear Dean. And right now Dean just needed to go away.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'll get you out of here."

Sam felt hands slide under his armpits and slowly lift him up.

He didn't like that. Dean wasn't allowed to touch him. Only it could touch him. It decided everything. Not Dean. Because there was no Dean.

V.

Dean jumped back when Sam screamed with all his might, pushing himself further against the wall. His voice was strained and taunt from lack of water but still loud enough to scare Dean shitless.

"Sam. Sam! Calm down," Dean begged, his hands reaching forwards but never touching.

After three weeks of relentless searching, he had finally found Sam in the last place he expected to. He was right there, less than a foot away. Yet Dean wasn't sure how to reach him.

After what seemed to be eternity, the screaming abruptly stopped, and all that was left was Sam heaving from the effort.

"Sam…" Dean cautiously tried again. The last thing he wanted was another freak out. He doubted he or Sam could survive a second one. "Sam, can you hear me?"

Eyes wide, Sam stared down at his bare feet, his chest heaving with gasps.

Dean warily moved forward, as if he was approaching a wild animal. His hand was flexing with anticipation. He needed to do something, he just didn't know what. One thing was for sure though, the straight jacket would be the first thing to go. Just seeing it on Sam was making him sick.

Sick and a little worried that it was a preview of upcoming attractions with the way his brother was acting.

Reaching out, Dean tested the waters. "Sam, I'm going to take off the straight jacket, okay?"

Remaining motionless, Sam blinked, his breaths slowly evening out.

Dean moved forward and touched one of the buckles, watching Sam's face for any change in expression. Noticing another deliberate blink, Dean slowly began unbuckling and untwisting Sam out of the wretched jacket.

Sam remained pliable through it all, moving and bending only when Dean directed him. "Don't you feel better now?" he asked as he threw the jacket in the corner.

Sam slightly shifted his eyes in Dean's direction and swallowed.

Already knowing he wasn't going to get much else for a response, Dean decided to reach towards Sam again. "Is it okay if we get out of here now?"

Sam immediately looked away and his jaw visibly tightened.

Dean sighed at that, knowing it was probably for the best if he just stayed where he was. If Sam wasn't ready yet, Dean would just wait until he was. He sat back on his haunches and looked around at the bleak place. The walls where slimy with mold and the plaster was falling from the ceiling. It was disheartening spending a night in a place like this, yet alone three weeks.

He knew Sam. He knew Sam could overcome anything.

But he also knew that whatever happened, it must have been a lot more than the mold and bad décor.

Biting his lip, he looked back at Sam, who was still staring at the same spot. He had never felt more helpless in his life. Sam was there, desperately needing his help, but he didn't know how to provide it.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a distant call traveled through the doorway.

Recognizing it's source, Dean immediately stood up and turned around. "Dad!" he screamed, hoping his hallways would carry his voice. "Get over here! It's Sam!"

Dean turned back towards his brother just in time to see him silently crumple to the floor. "Sam?" He rushed to his side and checked his pulse. Relief filled him when he found it still there. "Dad! Hurry!" He carefully turned Sam on his back and checked his breathing. It appeared as though he was just sleeping.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me," Dean muttered has he lifted Sam against his chest. He wasn't sure what it was, but holding Sam suddenly broke through the torrent of emotions he had been holding back.

He had finally found Sam, but he didn't know how to fix him. He knew Sam recognized him, he saw it in his eyes. But for some reason he didn't trust him. And that was the worst pain Dean has even known.

Blinking back tears, Dean could hear the running feet long before they reached the doorway.

"Dean," John breathed his he grabbed the doorframe.

Sam still in his arms, Dean turned around and looked his father in the eye. "Dad…" he whispered, his voice pleading.

VI.

Sam slowly opened his eyes, awoken by the soft vibrations of the car.

Someone was touching his head. He didn't like it when someone touched his head. It hurt when it touched his head.

Sam immediately moved as far away from the hand has he could. He looked down to see a blanket draped around him. Brow furrowing, he glanced around the dim vicinity, realizing he was in the back seat of the impala.

Wait. If he created Dean, that meant he created the impala too. They were all figments. He was imagining it. But he never he imagine something so lively. A dream. Yes, a dream. Because dreams aren't reality. And in reality there is no impala. There is no Dean.

"Hey there, Sammy."

Sam snapped his head up to find two sets of eyes looking at him. He was pretty sure one set should be looking at the road, but he couldn't be sure.

There was Dean again. And Dad. Dad and Dean. No Dad. No Dean.

Sam hung his head at the thought. Figments or not, Dad and Dean were there, staring at him. And he didn't like to be stared at.

"Do you want some water, Sam?"

It was Dad's voice that time. Just as gruff as he remem-…created it. That was a bad thought. No memories. It didn't like his memories. So he didn't like his memories. That's why he didn't have memories. He was really thirsty though.

Sam looked back up and cautiously took the bottle of water out of Dean's hand. He examined the bottle for a second before taking heaping gulps of the sweet tasting water.

"Slow down, Sam, you're going to get sick."

He didn't know if it was Dean's or Dad's voice. He really wasn't paying attention anymore.

"We're going through a drive thru in a couple minutes, if you're hungry."

He was hungry. But he couldn't dream forever. The dreams were bad. He didn't want the dreams. He needed to wake up now. So he went back to sleep.

VII.

"Dad, I think we should take him to a hospital."

"No, Dean," John replied, his eyes never moving from the lump in the bed. He would love to take Sam to a hospital and give his son the care he needed. But there would be questions with answers he couldn't provide. And the last thing they all needed was a social worker breathing down their necks.

"But he hasn't spoken a word since we found him," Dean argued from his spot on the bed, running his hand through Sam's hair.

"He's probably just bit shook up." John knew it was more than that, but he didn't know what else to do. His family triumphed every other trial in the past. Hopefully, they could survive this one too. "Just give him time, Dean."

With that, he slowly stood up from his chair, swearing he has aged ten years in the past five hours, and walked towards the door.

"Get some sleep, Dean. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a long day."

VIII.

It was a long day. God, it was a long life. Despite his efforts, Dean had fallen asleep several hours past sunrise, only to be awoken by Sam running from the room.

Instantly alert, Dean followed him, easily catching up to the malnourished boy. Grabbing Sam around the waist, Dean yanked him back, underestimating how much weight the boy had actually lost.

Both immediately toppled to the floor, Sam sprawling over Dean.

Dean gently lifted his brother up, Sam as palpable as clay once again. With John's help, they coaxed Sam back into bed and pulled the sheets over him.

Dean spent the rest of the afternoon at Sammy's side, while John tried to get both his boys to eat something.

"C'mon, Sammy, say something," Dean pleaded. He gave up ordering over an hour ago. If anything, it just made Sam even more unresponsive. "Fine then," he smirked. "If you don't say anything then we both agree that I am infinitely smarter and better-looking that you."

Nothing. Not even a whisper.

Dean's face fell, not enjoying it as much as he hoped to. "C'mon, Sammy, where's the fun? You can't let me win that easily." He placed a soothing hand on the boy's shoulder.

He already learned that touching Sam's head would just make him recoil. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know the reason why.

Slumping his shoulders, he leaned further against the bed. "Fine. If you're not going to talk, will you at least look at me?" he asked as he put his face in front of his brother's

Sam just shifted his eyes away.

But Dean was never deterred that easily. He started following Sam's eyes wherever they went while muttering, "C'mon…look at me…"

It only took about thirty seconds until Sam broke down. He closed his eyes and turned away. "Stop…please stop," he whispered so low Dean almost didn't hear it.

Running around to the other side of the bed so he was facing Sam's face. Dean ask, "Sam, what? What did you say?" He gently rubbed circles on the boy's shoulder, coaxing him to talk again. "Please, Sam."

Sam just wrapped his arms around himself and buried his head into his chest. "Not real…not real…" he breathed.

It took Dean a while to pick up on what Sam was saying, but the moment he did he wish he hadn't. "Is that what they told you?" he asked incredulously. He was going to kill that demon once he found it. Then, a worse realization dawned on him. "Do you believe that?"

He didn't need a response. Sam's behavior was enough of an answer.

"Sam, please, look at me," he said as he placed his hand on the boy's neck. Soft mutterings was his only reply. "I'm real…I'm real…" he repeated along with Sam.

IX.

They weren't going away. No matter how many times he went to sleep and woke up again, they weren't going away. Dean and Dad were now a constant presence in his life. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Dean was there every time he opened his eyes. He talked to him constantly. He liked the sound of Dean's voice. He only wished that he could respond. It didn't seem right that he couldn't.

And he wasn't sure why he felt that way.

You selfish bastard!

It was back. It had been coming back less and less. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that maybe it wasn't real.

Maybe Dad and Dean were the real ones.

Let me in!

It didn't like it when he thought of Dad and Dean.

It slowly approached him with a confidant swagger. Its black eyes gleaming, it knelt down in front of Sam and placed a hand on his cheek. "You have so much energy…I can feel it coming off of you in waves," it hissed, drool coming out of the side of its mouth.

"So much of it is untapped. You don't even know it's in there. It's a pity that much power is wasted on you." It slowly brought its hand up and caressed his hair. "Don't worry, soon you'll forget everything. All you'll know is the present."

Its bony hand came to a halt at Sam's forehead. Without another word, it began to feed off of Sam through its icy fingertips. Sam screamed at the top of his lungs as the demon's power hit. It felt like it was manually picking through his brain bit by bit. Restrained by the straightjacket, Sam tried to roll away, but the force of the hand kept him in place.

Finally, it moved its hand away and glared at Sam. "Why won't you let me in?"

Nerve-endings still aflame, Sam merely twitched in response.

"You have so much unused energy. Give it to me!" it hollered as it placed both his hands on Sam's forehead and pushed the boy down to the floor.

After that, all Sam knew was pain.

X.

"Sammy, wake up! It's not real!" Dean screamed as he shook Sam by the shoulders.

"Dean, you have to calm down," John advised from the other side of the bed.

He looked up at his father in disbelief. "Calm down?! Sam's been screaming his fuckin' head off for over three minutes and you want me to 'calm down'?!"

"You're not going to do anyone any good-"

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Dean hollered at the top of his lungs. "I told you we should have taken him to the hospital! The demon could have messed with his brain or something! But no! Evidently, being gone for three weeks and then coming back royally fucked up isn't enough of a reason to seek medical attention in your book," he berated, his fists flying around in anger.

All the while, Sam continued to scream, completely oblivious to the outside world.

Turning his attention back towards his brother, Dean jumped onto the bed and straddled Sam as he lifted the boy by his shoulders. "Goddammit, Sam! Wake up!"

With a gasp, Sam snapped open his eyes, still in mid-scream. He took one look at Dean on top of him and pounced on him, his arms wrapping out his midsection and holding on for dear life.

"Thank God. Sammy…" Dean sighed as he returned the hug.

"Dean…Oh God, Dean," Sam cried, his voice broken, hoarse, and beautiful.

"Sammy?" He asked. It was the first time Sammy said his name since they found him. Dean tried to pull back and look at him, to make sure he heard him right, but Sam just gripped on tighter.

It had been so long. He knew Dean would find him. He never questioned that. He just didn't know if all of him would still be there when Dean did. "Dean…" he sobbed. "I missed you so much."

Dean relaxed at those words. "I know, Sammy. Me too," he breathed. He looked up to see his father sitting on the bed in front of him, looking horribly out of place. Dean slightly nodded, silently consenting him to switch places.

John lightly smiled, his own personal version of 'thank you', and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam turned his head around, his face crumbling a bit more at the sight of his father. "…Dad?"

John's smile grew, even though his eyes shined with tears. He scooted further on the bed and wrapped his arms around his son as Dean slowly let go.

"Dad," Sam merely whispered, melting in the folds of his shirt.

John placed a large hand on the back of Sam's head. "I missed you. I missed you so much," he muttered into the boy's hair.

They all remained like that for several minutes, until Dean couldn't take the silence anymore. They had all been silent for far too long.

Placing a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder, Dean asked, "What happened, Sam?"

Sam turned his head at the question. "It was a demon," he said, he voice thin.

"We know. We don't care about that. We care about you. What happened to you?" Dean could tell he was barely keeping it together, but he also know that the longer Sam kept it bottled up, the harder it would be.

Sam seemed to immediately shut down at the question. "Nothing."

John scooted back to space between him and Sam. "We have to know, son," he said as he gently held the boy by his arms.

Sam's brow immediately furrowed at that. "Why?"

Dean looked up and gave his father a warning glance. He wasn't sure how much Sam could handle yet, and small push might send him over the edge again.

Looking between Dean and his father, Sam twisted around to face Dean. "Why?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear.

Sighing, Dean looked down at Sam and placed both hands on his shoulders. "It's still out there. It was gone when we got there."

"Oh," he whispered, his eyes wide and face blank.

Dean immediately jumped in with reassurances. "Don't worry, Sam. We will find-"

"I know. I know," he cut off. "Just give me a second, okay?"

Dean leaned back, allowing Sam his space. He'd wait an eternity for him.

It only took several seconds for Sam to speak again, and when he did it was slow and deliberate. "It fed off of…energy. I think. Maybe power. It said I had a lot of it." He kind of chuckled at that, and Dean didn't really know why. "Said I didn't even know it. Then it got mad when it couldn't feed off of it. Said I kept it…locked up, away from him."

Dean looked up at John, but he was staring at the corner of the room, his mind already running with different reasons or scenarios. He looked back down at Sam when he saw he wasn't done.

"After the first couple…feedings. I started to forget things. A lot of things. It became all jumbled." Sam softly sighed and wrapped his arms around his midsection. "It was weird." He paused for a moment and looked up at both of them. "That's all I remember."

"You sure?" Dean asked as he slowly rubbed his back.

Sam looked away and nodded.

"Okay. Well, why don't you go and take a shower," John said as he got up from the bed and made his way towards the door. "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes."

With that he left the room and Dean couldn't have been more grateful.

"You okay?" he asked as he bent down to look Sam in the eye.

Sam returned the gaze and nodded. Swallowing, he slowly stood up and shakily made his way towards the bathroom.

"You did good, Sammy."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam smiled as he closed the door.

Dean stood up and stretched his aching joints. Turning back towards the door, he yelled, "You better save some hot water for me."

His only reply was Sam's scruffy voice. "Payback's a bitch…bitch."

Dean couldn't help but laugh his first laugh in three weeks.

He wasn't delusional. He knew it was far from over. But he also knew if anyone could overcome it, it would be Sam

…with his help of course.

* * *

**AN2: **I usually hate writing Author's Notes at the end...it seems distracting, but I know the ending is a bit iffy. But it is the end. There was a word limit on the story (5000 words), and while I could have gone on for another 5000, it was all part of the challenge to make it fit in the restraints given to me. Hope the resolution wasn't too lacking.

Thanks for reading!


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